


Drownyard Siren

by ViciousInnocence



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mac and Dennis survive the suburbs, Mac's POV, POV First Person, Possessive Behavior, a lil bit dark, probs - Freeform, tho the summary is Dennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7915930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViciousInnocence/pseuds/ViciousInnocence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> He's floating effortlessly above the waters, looking to see rainbows of light tricking up and down his submerged legs. The reflections are beautiful and changing, patterns as natural as those of an iris or a spider's web, wrapping around his body - caging him in purest light. If there ever was a time he felt truly weightless - it would be here and now - high, swimming naked in the sun, as colours divide on his pale skin. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drownyard Siren

Finally Dennis comes to the poolside beneath my feet, where I'm crouching to meet him. Instantly he's reaching out and hooking a finger under the collar of my shirt - twisting the material tightly into his palm and pulling me down.

His lips taste of salt and sun oil.

When he leans away his eyes appear the purest blue in the shade of natural light. He's smiling when he pulls teasingly on my collar.

"Don't pull me in."

His eyes are bright,

"I could if I wanted to."

The weight of his arm still hangs off my t-shirt.

"But you won't."

He gives a lopsided smile, daring to disagree.

"I might."

His damp fingers play on my bunched up shirt before he tugs my lips back to his own, this time he sinks down towards the water, making me stoop lower to reach him. For a nervous moment I think he might actually pull me under.

 

When he moves back, both hands grip the poolside, licking his lips like he's savouring a rich wine.

Sunlight twinkles in one eye - creating a glare as if he's winking. Then, he sinks beneath the surface - only small ripples follow. Obscured by kaleidoscopic layers of water his unblinking face looks up at me - before he pushes gently off the side and is gone.

Dennis may never have been built for the more "masculine" sports he had once aspired to; track athletics or football. But none of that matters - because once he's in the water he transforms entirely.

Some people are born swimmers, naturally given to the water rather than the land. Dennis is one of them. In every movement of his arms, in every wave of his body and gentle curl of his legs, he's all beauty and stunning grace. It's captivating, really. Elegant long limbs carving almost soundlessly through the water, guided by the points of delicate fingers.

A lot of the time I wish the pool wasn't under the ground, rather that we had an overground tank instead, to watch Dennis from every angle - so I could catch each muscle stretching under his skin.

It's a morbid thought to want to cage him, but if it were an actual possibility I know I wouldn't think twice about it. 

Standing to my feet, I hear the quiet sound of Dennis exiting the water and see his naked form in the sun. Even as he takes the steps out onto the poolside, his legs aren't messily splashing at all, merely washing the water around with his feet. As he stops by a deck-chair he must feel my eyes on him because he freezes up while toweling his hair - it's much longer when it's wet (and when he's swimming it floats around his head like a halo, or a black shroud).

He turns to glimpse out of the corner of his eye, returning his attention to drying his hair for a brief moment, before he's walking closer.

 

"You really like watching me, don't you?" he says, now barely two feet away.

I nod in response, even though at this point the question doesn't really need an answer. It's obvious enough how much I love to watch by how much time we spend together by the pool.

Dennis looks down, fixing the towel about his waist, smiling to himself almost bashfully. It's taken too long to break down the walls of Dennis' armour and it's always a blessing to see real emotion on his face.

Putting my right hand on his hip, I step closer, removing the distance between us and leaning his forehead against mine. As I move my left hand to mirror the other he breathes out a short laugh, I can't really see his face beyond his eyes, so I close mine.

"I'm not dry yet. You'll get wet."

I hold him anyway, let my arms slip on large droplets around his naked waist, sliding to meet my fingers together over his spine. I pull him close to me.

"I don't care."

Automatically my right hand's wandering - even with my eyes shut, I have no problem with what I'm searching for. 

Dennis gives a sharp inhale of breath, flinching backwards in my arms like a wounded animal, before forcing himself towards me again, pressing his bruised side up into my hand. His breathing shudders on my lips - presumably it still hurts. _That's good._

Out of habit I start teasing the patch of swollen flesh, kneading it firmly under my fingers.

After a few more seconds have passed it becomes too painful for him, and his arms fly up around my shoulders to support himself - his head now resting in the crook of my neck, pressing a soft groan against me. Slowly I move my arm around behind him again and hold him close as he pants gently. Maybe I did crack his rib. I imagine the waves of pain shooting out through his skin.

 _"I love you,"_ he breathes, almost a whisper, except his voice is too ragged. He inches ever closer, moving to press the full line of his body solidly into mine.

I run a hand through his wet hair, it's just as cold on my lips when I kiss his head.

On the insides of my hipbones - along the shallow V-line of muscle - deep circular holes are scabbing over, where Dennis hooks his fingernails into my skin. They ache each time I move, scratching on the waistbands of my clothes, occasionally popping off to bleed, above all; they refuse to heal. Not that Dennis would let them anyway.

I can feel them now, the sores pulling together insistently in waves. A reminder from Dennis, that part of me belongs to him, always.

For this purpose, a different couple would have tattoos, but I'll only have Dennis scar me this way.

And the dark purple stain across his ribs? I know he likes it too.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another weird half-fic. I feel like it's possibly a bit OOC Mac, or just plain weird, for some people but I like them this way. I've been reading too much first POV lately & this happened. I hope it was at least passable. Kinda on hiatus from writing (FINALLY), for reasons, this only happened bc I was stranded for 2 hours with a notepad and I liked it enough to type it up. (Couldn't think of better title).
> 
> also I tried to get tumblr for the third time and i am now just going to accept that i'll never understand how you're all addicted to it.


End file.
